Thicker Than Blood
by Kyra4
Summary: Gunther Breech knows well enough that blood is thicker than water. But when Magnus demands that Gunther help him perpetrate a heinous crime, Gunther will have to ask to ask himself what, if anything, is thicker than blood. GuntherXJane futureset, complete
1. Chapter 1

**Standard Start-of-Fic Disclaimer:** I do not own Jane and the Dragon, or any of the characters of places herein. I receive no compensation for writing works of fanfiction except possibly some nice reviews.

**Author's Note: **This fic is my submission to the first JatD fic exchange, run by The Lightning Flash. This fic is written as a gift to **ElfMaidenOfLight**. The challenge was to write a "Jane x Gunther one-shot / two-shot with heavy allusions to Gunther's father." This fic will be a two-shot with prologue for a total of three chapters. ElfMaidenOfLight, I hope you enjoy it! For that matter, I hope everyone else enjoys it too! :o) Until this fic is finished my other JatD fic, "Crashing Into You", will be on hold – but this fic will be finished within a week so don't anybody panic, lol! (j/k – I'm not that full of myself to think that anyone would panic anyway! ;-)

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**Prologue**

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-X-X-X-

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"I think I misheard you."

"You heard me perfectly, Gunther."

"No. I cannot have."

"Why is this so hard for you to understand?"

"I just… I do not… father, why _now?_"

Magnus sighed theatrically and leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak in protest. He clasped his hands across his enormous stomach, giving his son, who was seated across the table from him, a look of pure condescension.

"Gunther, you are not a child anymore. You will be eighteen years old come spring. Surely I do not have to spell it out for you that men have certain… needs."

Gunther felt a flush mounting in his cheeks, and hated himself for it. Of all the pathetic displays of weakness – blushing like a little girl at his father's matter-of-fact words! At court he was a knight of the realm, finally achieving the respect and esteem he had craved all his life. Here in Magnus's townhouse, on the other hand, he still felt like… well, like a child. An awkward, stammering, blushing _child_.

He felt so _small_ here.

And his father's casual revelation, a moment ago, that he was planning to take a new wife wasn't helping any.

_A stepmother_, he thought dazedly._ I am going to have a STEPMOTHER_.

He was having difficulty coming to terms with the notion.

"But –" and here was what he really couldn't make any sense of whatsoever – "but father, why _now?_ I mean, I have… _you_ have… seemed fine until now."

Magnus snorted contemptuously. "Good Lord, boy, please tell me that no son of mine is actually that _naïve_," he scoffed, causing Gunther to grit his teeth, humiliated. "I have had the same urges as any other man, it just so happens that I have grown weary of ploughing the occasional dockside whore. I find that lately I crave something a little more… dignified than that. Something _legitimate_. Not to mention… you have chosen your path in life, Gunther, as a knight of the king's court, and while I do approve of it – there is great potential there for wealth and power someday if you keep a keep an eye open for opportunities and seize them when they arise – there comes a time in a man's life when he begins to wonder what his legacy will be. Who will take over my business someday? The fact is, I would like to have more children, Gunther. I am not so old that that is an impossibility. Daughters to marry off advantageously, to form valuable alliances; sons to groom in my trade, to someday follow in my footsteps. Yes, I have decided. It is high time I settle down again."

_At least I am living at the castle now_, Gunther thought._ At least this will not affect my day-to-day life_. All right, so there was that much to be thankful for. But still… it was a lot to take in. Then something else occurred to him.

"More children. Then… you –" Gunther was almost choking on his words as he attempted to assimilate the barrage of information Magnus had just slammed him with – "will want somebody… young?"

"_Yes_, by God!" Magnus fairly bellowed – though apparently in good humor, and slapping the tabletop for emphasis. "I am _entitled_ to a young and comely wife, would not you agree? I _am_ the wealthiest bachelor in Kippernium, after all – why, the common consensus is that I am richer than the king! Just you wait, men with daughters as young as twelve will queue up around the block when they hear the news that Magnus Breech is looking for a wife!" Then, noting the expression of pure horror on Gunther's face, he grinned and added, "not that I am interested in one _quite_ so young. No, I have the wealth and the power; what I need is an alliance with a family of _noble _blood. That will ensure than any future offspring will be better equipped even than _you_, Gunther. Your younger siblings will have it all; power, wealth, _and_ lineage. In fact, I already have my eye on someone, boy – someone only a little younger than yourself, in fact – and someone I dare say you know quite well."

And that was when Gunther's day _really_ went to hell.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hah!" Jane cried merrily, "dead!"

She had just used the flat of her training sword to sweep Gunther's legs out from under him, and now the blunted tip of her weapon was pressed steadily against his throat as he lay sprawled and winded in the dust of the practice yard.

A heartbeat later the weapon was removed and her hand – nearly as grimy and sweaty as his own, the fingernails chipped and dirty – was extended to help him up.

"Really, though, Gunther," she said a moment later as he pointedly ignored her goodwill gesture and clambered, grimacing, back to his feet, "where _are_ you today? I cannot remember the last time I bested you three times in a row. You seem… a hundred miles away. Is everything –"

"Fine," he bit out, retrieving his weapon. "Again."

Jane frowned. "Gunther, are you sure –"

"I am _fine!_" This time he virtually snarled it. "I said, _again!_" He lunged at her. But why, he wondered, as their blades met, _why_, damnit, did she have to read him so _well?_

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Because of course he wasn't fine. He was the farthest thing from it.

He hadn't slept at all the night before, which could certainly explain why his reflexes were complete rubbish _today_. He had risen no fewer than five times in the night to pace the length of the practice yard at the foot of Jane's tower, pausing every now and again to rake a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair and glance up at her darkened window, as if fearing that now he had made his intentions known, his father might try to swoop in and steal her right from her bed.

In the end he'd sunk down on the bottommost of the steps that led to her door, bracing his back against one side of the staircase and his booted feet against the other, planting his elbows on his knees, dropping his head into his hands, and just… thinking.

What in God's name was he going to do now?

The answer to that, of course, was all tangled up in yet another question – a question he had never allowed himself to consider very closely.

How did he really feel about Jane Turnkey?

The reason he'd been avoiding this question was simple. Gunther was very good at deceiving others when the circumstances called for it, but was far less adept at lying successfully to _himself_. So whenever he was confronted by a certain truth that he really did not particularly want to face – how deeply he was wounded by his mother's lifelong absence, for instance; or how badly he longed for Sir Theodore's approval in addition to Sir Ivon's; or… or whether he might possibly harbor stronger feelings for his soon-to-be fellow knight (Gunther had been knighted three months before; Jane's ceremony was set for two months hence) than simply an irritable, rivalry-laced sort of tolerance – he just basically, well, _hid_ from it.

It had worked well enough until now.

Now that once again, as had happened so often over the years, he had his father's damnable meddling to contend with.

For the first time, he was being forced to confront his feelings for Jane head-on… and while he had yet to articulate, even to himself, just exactly what he _did _feel for her, there was one thing he was positive of; that he knew with absolute, _crystal_ clarity.

The thought of Jane as his father's wife made him sick on a nearly physical level.

He could not let it happen. He _couldn't_.

But what could be done about it?

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-X-X-X-

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As it turned out, Magnus made his move sooner even than Gunther had anticipated (well, rational, fully-awake Gunther, at any rate, as opposed to the half-asleep, night-pacing, all-bets-are-off Gunther who'd sat a solitary watch outside Jane's room the night before.) It was just as Jane had finished defeating his son soundly yet again that Kippernium's wealthiest merchant had clattered into the courtyard on his finest steed. Scrambling up before his father could see him sprawled at Jane's feet, Gunther stood beside her, breathing hard, watching the older man dismount, pass his horse off to a page with casual arrogance, and turn to hail Jane's father, who was approaching from the keep.

Just before he did so, Gunther saw his gaze skate over Jane; a lightning quick look that was so cold, calculating and – yes – already _possessive_ that it set Gunther's teeth on edge. He had to actively resist an impulse to step in front of Jane, physically blocking her from his father's line of sight.

Then the moment was past and all of Magnus's attention reverted to the man before him. "Ah, Chamberlain," he boomed heartily, "well met! I see you received my message."

Jane's father, for his part, looked guarded. "Yes, I understand there is an urgent matter you wish to discuss. Please, come this way."

As the two men walked together toward the castle proper, already falling into earnest conversation, Jane turned to Gunther, a puzzled frown on her face.

"What could _that_ be about?" she asked musingly. "The regular supply shipment arrived right on schedule last week, and father has not mentioned any special orders or unusual transactions coming due. Do _you _know what they are discussing, Gunther?"

"Mmh?" Gunther's attention had been momentarily diverted by his hands; wondering when they had fisted so tightly that his nails were digging painful crescents into his palms. With a concerted effort, he relaxed them, then raised his eyes to meet Jane's questioning green gaze.

He frowned. "Sorry, what?"

"Gunther, are you _sure_ you are well? Truly? You do not seem yourself today at all."

And just like that his hands were clenched again.

"I said I was fine, and I am _fine_. I have no idea what business our fathers could have to discuss. Now, come on. Again."

She stared at him hard for a moment, misgivings written all over her face. Just when he was positive that she was about to launch into a full-fledged inquisition, though – an inquisition he hadn't a clue as to how he would deflect – she shrugged and hefted her blade.

"As you wish," she said. And they were off again.

This time he could have won, too. They went back and forth for the better part of half an hour, and he was wearing her down – he _knew_ he was – when her mother's voice rang out across the practice yard.

"Jane! Jay–_AYNE!_" The Lady in Waiting had a singular gift for taking Jane's name and turning it into a multi-syllable word. A second later, the woman's pale, severe face was peering down from an upper window. "Jane, your father requests your presence. You are to come at once!"

There was no mistaking the fact that Jane's mother was worked up about something. Perhaps even 'agitated' would be a more apt description.

Jane danced backward, out of reach of Gunther's sword, and dropped her own weapon to the ground, flashing Gunther a cheeky grin. "Undefeated!" she exclaimed smugly, turning toward where her mother beckoned. "Thank you for the workout, Gunther; it has been a treat!" Then she was running toward the keep.

Gunther watched her go, wanting to call out to her, wanting to say something, do something – anything – to keep her from what he knew awaited her inside. He couldn't make any sound come. His voice was stuck in his throat.

A second later, he realized, looking down, that his hand – the one not clutching his practice sword – was actually extended toward her retreating figure, as if possessed of some mute desire all its own to… grab her back to him, somehow.

He let it fall back to his side and watched Jane vanish indoors with a last bounce and swirl of her hair like flame.

OOOOO

-X-X-X-

OOOOO

When she reemerged some twenty minutes later, she bore very little resemblance to the lighthearted, teasing girl she had been when her mother had called. Following her departure, Gunther had put away their training equipment and drunk deeply from the well, splashing a quantity of water over his head and shoulders for good measure. Then he'd put his back to the sun-warmed wall and slid down it to sit on the ground and await her return.

He'd actually begun to drowse a bit in the sun – hardly surprising considering his lack of sleep the night before – when the sound of a door slamming nearby, followed by running footsteps, brought him back to full awareness with a start. Launching himself back to his feet, he saw Jane racing across the yard so fast she was nearly a blur. She was going for the steps to her tower room.

"Jane! _Jane!_" Gunther moved sideways to intercept her, placing himself dead in her path. She skidded, slowing – but not enough. It looked as if she was actually going to _collide_ with him.

"Jane!" And then she was there, and he was reaching out without thinking about it, catching her, gripping her by the shoulders and holding her fast. "Jane, what happened in there!?"

She tried to pull away from him, but he wasn't having it. "_Jane!_"

"Leave – me – alone – Gunther!" she panted, struggling in his grasp. "I do not want to talk about it!" And then, quite suddenly, barely a heartbeat later, all of the resistance went out of her and she was sobbing, _Jane Turnkey_ was _sobbing_ – great, gusty sobs like a child – her hands gripping double fistfuls of his shirt and her flushed face buried in his chest.

Gunther was floored. He had no idea what to do.

Awkwardly, he put his arms around her, pulling her closer, astonished by how much heat she was putting off, astonished by how _right _she felt in his arms. He held her until she cried herself out, the sobs reducing to sniffles and then to hitching, hiccupping breaths.

Finally, she stepped back, away from him, releasing his dampened shirt and swiping the backs of her hands across her eyes – a defensive, almost angry gesture. Another step backward and she fetched up against the wall. She wrapped her left arm around her chest, rested her right elbow on her left forearm, and dropped her face into her hand. "I am sorry, Gunther," she said hoarsely. "That was… that was… uncalled for."

"It… is fine," he said, still a little shaken. "What is going on, Jane?"

She actually snorted a brief spate of laughter, her face still in her hand. "A _marriage_ proposal!" she said bitterly. "Can you imagine? That awful old man wanted… wanted me…" suddenly her eyes flew up to his, a flash of green, still tear-bright. "Oh Gunther, I am sorry. Your father, I should not have said –"

Gunther shook his head. "I understand." He had to swallow hard before he could force out his next words. "Are… are they… making you –?"

"_NO!_ My father would never force that on me! I am becoming a _knight_, not a wife. He just thought… since it was the only proposal I have ever received… or am likely to… that I might want to… um, entertain it. I did not. But I do not know what… what caused me to…" she waved a hand vaguely across the yard, indicating the path of her wild flight a moment before. "It might have been the way he looked at me, like I was already… already… a possession of his, I suppose. It might have been that my mother obviously wished me to consider it. But I think mostly it was just that I was so _surprised_, just… caught _so_ far off-guard, and… and..."

Her eyes, still locked on his, suddenly widened and slowly, slowly, she straightened up, no longer leaning back against the wall for support, but pulling herself upright to her full height. The sense of foreboding, of _oh no, what is coming NOW?_ hit him only a split second before those eyes, now snapping green fire, narrowed to furious slits.

"You," she half-whispered, half-growled.

"Jane, what –"

"You have been acting oddly all morning! I knew there was something going on with you, I _knew_ it! It was this, you knew all about it! You knew what was going on, Gunther, didn't you? _Didn't_ you!?"

He opened his mouth to frame a reply, but before he could make any words come at all she nodded, her question answered by his very speechlessness.

"You probably knew for days, and you never warned me. You just let me be _blindsided_ like that! I knew you were low, but this… this… I suppose you were hoping they _would_ make me. I suppose you would _like_ that, wouldn't you – me living like some prisoner in your father's house, a slave to you both!"

Jane, _no_ –"

"And no more competition on the practice field, that is for sure! Not when I am being kept busy every moment cooking and mending and… and… having _babies!_ Why, it would be a dream come true, wouldn't it? You can go ahead and say it, Gunther – _wouldn't_ it!?"

"Jane, damn it, _NO!_"

He wanted to shout at her, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to tell her that the thought of her as his father's wife was not a dream but a _nightmare_, that it made him sick to even _contemplate_ it, that… that… that it would kill him if it ever came to pass. It would _KILL_ him.

She wasn't listening, though. She was working herself into a _towering_ fit of rage. "You are nothing but a slimy, crawling maggot and I hate you, Gunther Breech, do you hear me!? I _hate_ –"

And then he was kissing her.

Even years later, he would never be able to say just exactly how it had happened. In one second she was screaming at him – she had actually taken a step _toward_ him and was punching him in the shoulder repeatedly to punctuate certain words of her tirade – 'maggot' and 'hate' received particular emphasis – and in the very next second his arms were wrapping around her, yanking her against him and God, she was putting out so much heat, she was like a living, breathing _furnace_ – and then his hand was burying itself in her hair and pulling her face to his and his lips were on hers, tasting the salt of her tears, and one of her hands was fisted in the fabric of his shirt again and he couldn't tell whether she was trying to push him away or pull him closer – truth be told, he didn't think that she knew, in that moment, which it was, _herself_. And then her other hand fisted in his hair and she was pulling his face down, even closer, even _harder_ against her own, and her lips were moving, _opening_ to him and… and…

And then it was over. She wrenched herself away from him so hard that he stumbled, and before he could manage to right himself she slapped him across the face with shocking, explosive force.

Gunther staggered back a step – now it was _his_ back that was planted against the wall – and raised his hand slowly to his stinging cheek. Jane was gulping in air like she was drowning.

A long moment of silence spiraled out between them, broken only by their heavy breathing. Then, "You… are… _despicable!_" Jane panted, her face flushed as crimson as her hair and fresh tears standing in her eyes, and before Gunther could rally himself to respond, she'd shoved past him and was taking the tower steps two at a time.

Her door slammed shut behind her with resounding force.


	3. Chapter 3

Gunther stood there for a moment in a daze, attempting to catch his breath and get a handle on the situation – on what had just happened. What he – _they_ – had just done.

He had kissed her. He had kissed his lifelong rival. He had kissed Jane Turnkey.

And she had kissed him back.

Slap or no slap, there was not a single iota of doubt in his mind. For a moment there, she _had kissed him back_.

So what in God's name was he meant to do _now?_

One hand still pressed to his cheek, he stared up at her bedroom door in an agony of indecision. Did he give her time to cool off? Did he go after her? Did he _dare?_ And what did they have to say to each other, anyway? What did this _mean?_

"Gunther!"

His train of thought was cut off by the sound of his father bellowing his name from behind him. Turning, he was confronted by the sight of a Magnus who was angrier than Gunther had ever seen him before. The large man was positively purple with outrage.

"Saddle your horse and follow me home," Magnus spat at his son, as a stable boy hurried up leading the merchant's own steed. "_NOW!_"

OOOOO

-X-X-X-

OOOOO

Gunther stood in a corner of the large room, leaning back against the place where the two walls met, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching his father pace, and staying out of the older man's way.

At first he'd been afraid that his father had witnessed the kiss, but it had soon become apparent that all of Magnus's anger stemmed from the meeting with Jane and her parents, and his entirely unanticipated rejection therein.

He was ranting about it now.

" – pathetic little excuse for a man, how he can hold his head up in the company of _real_ men I cannot imagine, crawling on his stomach like a worm, spineless, _gut_less, deferring to his womenfolk – first his wife and then his daughter, his _daughter_, Gunther, can you believe _that!?_ Called her in and asked her opinion just as if the little brat had a perfect right to decide for herself! _Outrageous!_ I have never in my life –"

After a while Gunther tuned him out, his head virtually swimming with relief that his father's plan to claim Jane as a bride had been unsuccessful. He still had a lot to figure out in terms of his own feelings for the girl in question as well as the… the _incident_… that had taken place at the foot of the tower stairs, but at least this particular unpleasantness could be put behind him.

Or so he thought until Magnus stopped pacing and snarled, "no matter. I _will_ have that girl, one way or another."

Gunther froze.

"Wh – _what!?_" he managed a moment later, forcing both his brain and mouth back into action. "You have just spent a quarter of an hour verbally ripping that family to shreds! Why in God's name would you still want an alliance with them? Jane Turnkey cannot be the only young woman of noble descent and childbearing age in the vicinity – you need to look elsewhere, father!"

But Magnus was shaking his head, and his expression of black determination made Gunther's heart sink.

"No. They will not get away with turning _me _down. I said I was going to marry that girl and by God I am going to marry that girl. And then she is going to spend the rest of her _life_ paying for my embarrassment today. I will _Grind. Her. Down._"

"How?" Gunther asked through lips that suddenly felt numb. "They turned you down once. Why should they react any differently if you ask again?"

"Because," Magnus said grimly, "their circumstances are about to change. The girl is proud now, but pride goeth before the fall. And she will fall hard. All I have to do is deprive her of her most valuable possession – her reputation, boy; her _modesty_ – and then we will see how quickly her parents will scramble to accept my offer and salvage what little of their family's honor they can. I will have them right where I want them – and then I will make that haughty wench _crawl!_"

He turned a speculative eye on Gunther, who was staring at him in dumb, shocked silence. "I shall require your assistance in this… venture. We need to plan this out. I dare say _you_ should be able to seduce the girl… or, failing that –" he waved a hand vaguely – "overpower her. Then, to seal her fate, we need only collect some kind of… _evidence_… of your conquest. I shall secure my bride and you will have yourself a nice little romp into the bargain. Win – win, eh boy?" He tossed Gunther a lewdly conspiratorial wink. And Gunther, feeling sicker than he ever had in his life, swallowed hard, found his voice, and said,

"No."

It was the first time he had ever – _ever_ – openly contradicted his father.

That was not to say that Gunther had never defied Magnus before. To the contrary, he had become extraordinarily adept over the years at cleverly sabotaging his father's more villainous plots and schemes, without anyone – Magnus included – being any the wiser. But open refusal, face to face? Huh-uh. This was something new.

This was something he could not even _pretend_ to go along with.

This was _more_ than villainous, it was… downright _evil_.

His father was talking about utterly destroying a life. A life that Gunther was realizing, more fully every second, was precious to him.

His father was talking about _rape_.

And his father was talking about Jane.

This would not stand.

He shook his head. And said it again. "_No_."

It was Magnus's turn now to stare in shocked, open-mouthed disbelief. "_What_… did you say?"

The older man's voice was dangerous, but Gunther had made his stand and he wasn't going to back down now. He took a deep breath.

"I said _no_. You made your proposal; you were declined. That is the end of it. It is over. What you are talking about now is a crime, and not only will I _not_ help you to commit it, I will do everything in my power to stop you. As both a loyal subject of the king, and a fellow knight of the realm, Jane Turnkey is entitled to my protection and I will give it to her freely. Look elsewhere for a wife, father. _You will not harm Jane_."

There. It was out. God help him, he had said it.

In a sudden flash of insight he realized that he had been careening toward this moment of open defiance for a long, long time – maybe even years. It seemed somehow fitting to him right then, that when the moment of truth finally arrived, it should have to do with Jane. Most of the complications in his life _did_, after all. Sometimes it seemed that Jane's entire purpose for _being_ was to make things more difficult for _him_ – and, in the process, to force him to become a better person.

A better man.

And – oh, God – here was the crux of the revelation: he _loved_ her for it.

The force of this knowledge, for the first time freely _ac_knowledged, was almost enough to send him to his knees.

He loved her for it, and no one was going to deliberately harm a hair on her head so long as he had anything to say about it; least of all Magnus.

Father and son stared at each other for a long time in silence as Magnus grew angrier, and Gunther more determined, with every second that passed.

And then the explosion came, as Gunther had known that it would.

OOOOO

-X-X-X-

OOOOO

He was slipping again – slipping to the right this time. A moment ago, he'd been slipping to the left. With a concerted effort, he righted himself.

Odd. He'd never noticed before just how difficult riding a horse actually _was_.

Maybe it was just that he was so tired. Deep down, bone-weary exhausted. Twilight seemed to have come out of nowhere; shadows were dancing on the edges of his vision and all he wanted to do anymore was sleep.

He was actually temped to pull up his horse, wrap himself in his cloak, and lie down for a little while in one of the inviting little meadows he was passing, or under a sheltering tree… but he resisted the urge. He needed to get back to the castle. He needed to see Jane. There was something he wanted to tell her.

He just couldn't remember for the life of him what that something _was_.

That was all right, though. It was important, so it would come to him. It would come to him when he saw her, if not before. He wasn't worried.

Not about that, at any rate. He _was _a little worried about his vision, though. It kept trying to slide out of focus, which was… bothersome. He blinked hard, forcing his eyes back into focus. The castle was looming ahead now – good. He was almost home.

Home. He thought it had never looked so good. Except for the fact that it was so strangely blurred around the edges. He didn't really have time to dwell on it, though, because a moment later he was clattering into the courtyard and there, in the adjoining practice area, attacking the practice dummy as though it had done her some personal wrong, was Jane.

She was aware of his presence – she had to be – but was pointedly ignoring him. She didn't turn around even when he reined up just a few yards away from her; only went right on assaulting the hapless dummy as if it had slapped her mother.

"Jane," he said.

"Go away, Gunther." It sounded like she was speaking through clenched teeth.

Gunther sighed. He hadn't remembered what it was he'd wanted to tell her so urgently. Maybe it would come to him if he saw her face, but she was keeping her back to him. He needed her to turn around.

"Damn it, Jane," he said wearily. He was not _up_ to this right now. He was just so _tired_, by God… and his voice had a strange, distant, echo-y quality to it that he didn't like at all. There was definitely something wrong here.

He dismounted.

"Would you just… just _look_ at…" He trailed off, suddenly overcome by a sweeping sense of vertigo. Giving his head a slight shake in an attempt to clear it, he pressed the heel of his hand against his temple. God, he felt… strange. He knew he was standing on solid ground; on the packed earth of the practice yard where he had spent _thousands _of hours training over the years. Every square foot of this space was familiar to him. And yet… it almost felt, at the moment, as if the ground itself had decided to turn against him – siding with Jane, perhaps. It was bucking and rolling beneath his feet like the deck of his father's ship… and Gunther never _had_ cared much for sailing.

"Ugh!" Jane, for her part, sounded angrier than ever. "Will you just leave, already! I have nothing to say to you, Gun – _Gunther!?_"

"Whoa," he murmured, more to himself than to Jane. What had just happened? A second ago he'd been standing beside his horse; now he was half-sitting, half-kneeling on the ground with absolutely no comprehension of how he'd gotten down here.

What was going _on?_

"_Gunther!_" Jane had dropped her practice sword and abandoned the dummy. A second later she was hurling herself to her knees beside him. "Gunther! Gunther, what – _look_ at me! – What is _wrong!?_"

He was _trying _to look at her – he _was_. The evening had just gotten so very dark, so quickly. His grey eyes, seeking hers, were confused – and suddenly scared as well. Something was happening to him that he didn't understand.

"I… I…" and then he pitched forward, falling directly into her arms.

"Gunther! Gunther, no! Sit up, sit up, come _on_ – _please_ tell me what is wrong! I _swear_, if you are faking this to make me feel – oh God. Oh, _God!_ Your hair is… is…"

And then she was out and out screaming.

After that, there were just… impressions.

Running footsteps. Shouting voices. Sir Theodore demanding what had happened and Jane's voice, frantic, nearly hysterical –

"I do not _know!_ He… he was just standing there and then he was on the ground and his hair – Sir Theodore, there is blood in his _hair_, it is _soaked_ with it – oh God, and I was so angry with him and… and… Gunther… oh Gunther, _please _sit up! I am sorry, I am so sorry, please please just be all right!"

He wanted to obey her, he really did. There was such fear in her voice. He tried to struggle back into a sitting position, but his body was having none of it. He collapsed back, ending up sprawled on the ground with his head now cradled in Jane's lap, staring dazedly up at the sky.

Sir Theodore's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance away as Gunther heard him telling Jane, "keep him awake now, whatever you do. I am going to find Sir Ivon, so we can move him inside. Try to get him talking, all right? I fear his head injury might make him drowsy, but he _must not_ go to sleep, you understand? I will return as quickly as I can."

This was followed by the sound of departing footsteps and then Jane was leaning close over him; so close in fact that stray tendrils of her fiery hair, having escaped the messy knot at the nape of her neck, now fell down around his face, curtaining him and gently brushing his cheeks.

He blinked up at her, bemused. "Why…" he whispered hoarsely, "are you up… upside down?"

She made a strangled little sound that seemed half-laugh, half-sob, and something warm splashed down on his cheek before she scrubbed one grimy hand hard across her eyes.

"Gunther, I need you to talk to me. Can you tell me what happened? How were you hurt?"

He closed his eyes for a moment to rally himself; he still wasn't in any pain, exactly, but he felt so _very_ strange, sort of like… like a visitor in his own body.

He could not have predicted the way Jane would react.

Suddenly her small, deceptively strong hands were gripping his shoulders with desperate force. "Gunther! NO! You _cannot _do that, you need to stay awake! Gunther, look at me, _please!_"

He prised open first one eye, then the other. "I _am_ 'wake," he mumbled, vaguely aware that he was beginning to slur his speech. He gazed up at her a moment, then cocked his head to the side where it lay in her lap, trying to make her appear right-side-up again. It didn't work. "You are still up… side down," he observed, rather reproachfully. "You are muh… making me dizzy. Stop spinning the ground."

Another snort of helpless, half-sobbing laughter. "Gunther, what _happened_ to you?"

He frowned, trying to bring it back. What _had _happened? He remembered…

His father's tirade. The diabolical plan. His refusal to cooperate and, moreover, his pledge to _stop_ Magnus at any cost. And Magnus's reaction.

Certain words stuck out in his mind. _Wretched ingrate… disappointment… no son of mine… disinherited… out, OUT of my house!_ He remembered standing stoic throughout, weathering his father's rage whilst ducking every now and then, to avoid the occasional object hurled in his direction.

He remembered turning for the door, getting halfway out, and that was when something had impacted the back of his head with stupefying force. He had actually staggered – thought for a second that he would fall – and grabbed at the doorframe for support.

Even then, in that very first instant, he had begun to feel… disconnected with himself.

He had recovered enough to straighten up, though; to turn around, drawing his sword as he did so. He'd had the satisfaction of seeing his father's eyes widen as they took in the blade in his hand, the expression of malicious triumph on Magnus's face changing in a heartbeat to surprised fear. Gunther had pointed his sword at his father, holding it steadily trained on Magnus's heart – even though he'd already begun to feel his strength running out of him like water from a sieve, he hadn't wavered.

"If you ever harm Jane I will find you," he'd said with quiet emphasis, "and as you no longer consider me a son, you should not expect me to treat you as my father when I do." Then he had sheathed his weapon, given the now cowering Magnus a last, disgusted shake of his head, and left the house – kicking out of his way, as he did so, the object which had struck him; a large, ornate, and obscenely heavy pewter candlestick.

All this he remembered, but all he said to Jane was, "it was my… own fault. I should've known… better than… t'turn my back."

The play of emotions over Jane's face was something to behold – each one was so separate and pronounced that even in his seriously compromised state, Gunther could recognize them all in turn.

Perplexity… comprehension… incredulity… horror… and then utter, white-hot fury.

"Your _father_ did this!?" she demanded. It was phrased as a question, but she didn't bother to wait for an answer before continuing. "Of all the vile… low… contemptible… wait – Gunther – did this have something to do with _me?_"

Gunther didn't answer, but he saw her read the truth of the matter in his eyes. His guard was too far down to hide anything from her now.

"I am going to kill him," she breathed, and then again, louder; _I am going to KILL that bastard!_"

Gunther couldn't help but quirk a slow, sleepy smile. He was amused by her protectiveness of him, especially in light of the fact that it had been his protectiveness of _her_ that had landed him in this condition in the first place. The irony was almost beautiful.

"I thought you… hate… hated… me," he murmured as his eyelids tried to drag themselves down. It was getting _very _hard to stay awake.

"Sometimes I think I do!" she cried, then added in a softer voice, "but it _passes_. Gunther, what happened this morning… it was just one shock too many, in too short a time. That is why my reaction was so… extreme." She let go his shoulders and brought both her hands up to cup his face. "But that does not mean I want to see you _dead!_ And my God, Gunther, most especially not over _me!_ What were you doing, quarreling with him over me!? And why would you even think that was necessary?" She was working herself back around toward anger again. "I thought I made myself clear enough to him that no one else would need to step in and… and _champion_ me!"

Gunther shook his head – then groaned. That had been a mistake.

"You do not… know him, you… do not un… unnerstand," he said. Speaking was becoming an incredible effort. "He was not going… to let… let it go. I had to… had… to…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing as his gaze shifted now from Jane herself to the sky beyond her. He'd thought it was twilight just a few moments ago, but what little light had been left was already virtually gone. It looked closer to midnight now. "When did it… get so dark?" he asked bewilderedly.

Jane looked up briefly, then back down at him. She'd been scared before, but now she looked downright terrified.

"Gunther, it is barely past midday, and not a cloud in the sky. It is not dar – Gunther! Gunther, _STOP!_"

For his body had picked that exact moment to let him know that it had had all it could take, and would take no more.

A sudden, single, convulsive shudder ripped through him and that was when the pain finally, belatedly hit him. And such pain – it felt as if his head was trying to tear itself apart – and was succeeding. He gave a sick little gasp and then his eyes were closing and there was nothing nothing _nothing_ he could do to stop them.

Jane was yelling his name and then there were pounding footsteps and Sir Ivon was there, shouting "Gunther! Gunther, lad, can ye _hear_ me!?" and Sir Theodore, sounding very far away, as though Gunther was hearing him down a long and echoing tunnel, was saying, "do not _panic_, Ivon – we have to get him up, on three, together –"

He had just a heartbeat's worth of time to think that maybe it wasn't _so_ terrible, never knowing a mother's love and now losing his father's, when there were plenty of other people here – at his _real_ home – who obviously cared for him.

And then everything went black, and spiraled away.

OOOOO

-X-X-X-

OOOOO

(A/N: Okay, so I'm making a liar out of myself! ;-) I said that this ficlet would be a prologue and two chapters, but obviously this is not the end of the tale, so there will be an epilogue too. So review, and stay tuned! More "Crashing Into You" once this fic's epilogue is posted...)


	4. Chapter 4

He swam languidly back toward consciousness, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Jane.

He had been brought to his own quarters, and was in his bed. It appeared dark outside his shuttered window; the sconces had been lit but were guttering, bathing the room in a dim, fitful light. The fire in his grate had burned down to embers. And draped across the foot of his bed, one arm cushioning her head and the other dangling over the edge, her body a warm, solid weight against his feet, lay Jane.

He didn't think he'd ever seen her asleep before. He levered himself up onto his elbows for a better look.

At first glance she appeared peaceful, her breathing deep and rhythmic. A closer inspection, however, revealed dark smudges beneath her eyes and pale tear tracks staining her cheeks, reflecting silver in the flickering sconce-light. Her clothes were rumpled, dirty, and – he saw with a sudden flush of horror – bloody.

The first thought that leapt to his mind was, _my father – he has done something to her after all – I am going to _– but then he remembered pitching into her arms in the practice yard and realized that the bloodstains he was seeing were almost certainly his own.

Relief was the first thing to hit him – then understanding.

_She has not changed her clothes since then. I wonder if she has left me at all? It has to be hours since I collapsed_…

He found the notion of her staying with him all that time, not even bothering to change her stained and filthy clothing, to be frankly amazing… until it occurred to him to ask himself what _he_ would have done if their roles had been reversed.

And reached the almost immediate conclusion that he would have done the exact same thing.

Jane a bloody mess, falling into _his _arms? It was difficult – _painful_ – to even contemplate such a thing. And if it ever, God forbid, _were_ to happen, wild horses would not be able to drag him away from her. So he supposed he understood, in theory at least, what she was doing there.

He wasn't at all sure, however, that he approved.

Magnus's words during their confrontation were still ringing in his head and he could not help but remember what his father had said about Jane's most precious possession as a young woman of noble birth – her reputation, her modesty.

Magnus had wanted it torn away from her, by force if necessary, the notion of which had filled Gunther with the purest horror he'd ever felt in his life… but now it seemed she was wantonly _throwing_ it away of her own volition. Spending the night in his bedchamber unchaperoned? Even under the circumstances, with him unconscious, it was a wildly improper thing for her to do.

Then a quiet, grunting snore emanated from the corner of the room and, turning his head to follow the sound, he realized that they were not in fact unchaperoned, after all.

In a corner of the room near the hearth, wrapped in one blanket with another wadded up for a pillow, lay Sir Ivon, fast asleep. As Gunther watched, the portly old knight grunted again, scratched himself, heaved over onto his side, smacked his lips, and fell back into the steady rhythm of his snores – all without so much as opening his eyes.

Gunther smiled to himself, but the smile faded as he reflected on the depth of devotion that was indicated by the older man's presence in his room. Sir Ivon may have earned himself some renown as a jouster back in his glory days, but he was no battle-hardened old crusader like Sir Theodore. Ivon was a man who appreciated good food, good drink – and a soft bed.

Yet here we was, snoring on the flagstone floor – and why?

_Because of me._

Unconsciously he raised a hand to his head; felt bandages – felt his injury – winced.

_He is here out of concern for me. ME. Just like Jane._

Jane. For a moment there, he'd almost forgotten. He turned his head toward her again – to find that her eyes, more black than green in the dim light, were open now… and gazing directly back at him.

They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment as Sir Ivon slumbered on and the embers popped in the grate. Then,

"Gunther," Jane breathed.

His hand, which had still been pressed absently against his injury, dropped back to the coverlet, and he felt the slow beginnings of a grin twitch at his lips. She was still lying sideways across the foot of his bed, and so he cocked his own head to the side as well.

A flash of memory hit him. "Why are you upside down?" he asked quietly.

"Gunther!" In one fluid motion, she rolled up onto her knees and then launched herself at him, knocking him backward into the headboard with the force of her embrace.

"Ungh!"

Dancing lights exploded across his vision as his head impacted the wood, and for a second the room seemed to pitch to one side and he was afraid he would pass out again.

Then the world righted itself and he was more or less okay, with the exception of a keen, throbbing ache at the base of his skull… but his double armful of Jane Turnkey served as a more than adequate distraction from the pain.

For a moment she simply clung to him, arms locked round his neck, as if her life depended on it. Then, just as abruptly, she pulled away, settling back into a sitting position with her knees drawn up, about halfway down his bed.

Her face was pale, hair even more of a wreck than usual, and her eyes huge in dim light. Impulsively she leaned forward again, reached out and pressed the palm of one hand to his cheek, as if to reassure herself that he was there; that he was real.

"Gunther, you stupid beef-brain," she whispered, "you scared m – us half to death!"

"Sorry," he said rather ruefully, "but even I did not anticipate being… uh… candlesticked."

Jane chuffed a quiet snort of laughter. "I do not think that is a real word, Gunther."

"Oh, really?" He raised an eyebrow. "After you have had it done to _you_, then you can tell me whether it is a real word or not, all right?"

Jane sobered. "Truly though, it was horrible. For a moment there… we really thought…" She seemed unable to bring herself to finish.

"Jane."

"Mmh." She dragged a hand across her puffy eyes, almost angrily, just as she had when he'd confronted her after her disastrous interview with his father. Had that only been a day ago? It felt as though a lifetime had passed since that sun-drenched, almost surreal encounter.

"You should not do that. It is over. And it is fine –" he reached out and seized her hand, pulling it down and away from her face – "my God, you are shaking!"

"I know," she said, staring down at their joined hands as if she'd never before seen anything of the like. Her voice was shaking too. "I just… you were… I have never been so frightened in my life. There was so much blood, so _much_ and you were just… _ashen_… and your eyes – they were so _strange_, Gunther, like you were already seeing… a world I could not. And when they lifted you away from me it was… it was as if all the life ran right out of you – you just _hung _there and… I was sure you had stopped breathing. I jumped up and went for my sword – I could hardly think straight, I just… do you remember that time years ago, when Dragon was so ill? I was so frantic that I nearly ran headlong off that cliff. You pulled me back – you saved my _life_ that day, Gunther, and all I could think about, in that moment when I was convinced I had lost you, all I could think about was how you were there for me that day and… and yesterday I was… was not…" She looked up at him with haunted eyes. "I wanted to kill him. I was so angry, and so… sad… I was going to jump onto your horse and ride right back there and…" She trailed off, shook her head. "But the thing about it is, I knew even then, that the person I was angriest with was not your father but myself. _I _let you down. I –"

"Stop. Jane, _stop_."

She pulled in a deep, shuddering breath; freed her hand from his; locked her arms around her knees. Pressed her eyes closed. "I… I am sorry," she said quietly. "I have not been the friend you deserved. I behaved horribly yesterday –"

"You stayed with me," he pointed out.

"I…what?"

"You _stayed _with me," he repeated patiently. "From then until now. Every moment. Haven't you?"

"Of _course_."

"You wanted to go after my father. But you stayed with _me_."

"Yes. Sir Ivon saw what I was doing. He shouted at me, told me that wherever I was going, I could just forget it; that they needed me. That _you_ needed me. That was when I realized I must have been mistaken, that… there must still be hope. And as long as there was hope –" she paused for a moment, swallowed hard. "I would never leave you, Gunther. Never."

Gunther's breath caught. He'd had his revelation concerning Jane yesterday in his father's house – was it possible that she'd had she had undergone something similarly profound between then and now? Was that what she was trying to say?

Was there room for hope? Did he dare?

She looked as though she were about to say more, but before she could, Sir Ivon let loose with a mighty belch in his sleep, distracting them both. When he looked back at Jane, her head was bowed, eyed glued on her own hands, which were picking restlessly at a loose thread on his coverlet.

"I should tell you about your father," she said softly, and he felt his blood run cold.

"What?" he asked more sharply than he had intended, thinking again, _if he has hurt her somehow_…

"He has been exiled by the king," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"_What!?_" He hardly knew what he had been expecting her to say, but that _certainly_ wasn't it.

Jane looked up at him again. "Sir Theodore is overseeing his… removal. That is the only reason he is not here as well. He did not want to leave you, either." She paused and raked a hand through her disheveled hair. "Your father… I… I told you I wanted to kill him. I was not the only one. Once you were… stabilized, Sir Ivon wanted to go after him as well. Sir Theodore wanted him thrown in the dungeons, at the _very_ least. But when King Caradoc was informed of the situation, he proclaimed your father immediately and permanently banned from the kingdom for assault on a king's knight. He said he could not imagine that _you_ would want to see your father imprisoned or dead. He said he was doing it with you in mind. Of the three courses of action, it was undoubtedly the most lenient. Even so… I am sorry, Gunther."

He took a deep breath. This was a lot to take in, but he found himself strangely relieved. He would no longer have to worry about his father's vicinity to Jane. Jane's safety was ensured. And that meant everything. His eyes widened. He had just remembered what it was that he'd been riding home to tell her; what had been so important that he had _needed_ to say.

"You need not be sorry, Jane. _I_ am not. We had nothing left to say to each other. The king is wise, and I am grateful. This is best. Jane. _Jane_." He wanted to be sure he had her full attention, because the next words he spoke might very well be the most crucial of his life. Well, other than that single fateful word he had uttered yesterday in his father's house; _no_.

Then her eyes locked on his, and he knew it was time to speak his heart.

"Listen," he said quietly, "I owe you an apology about yesterday." He saw her draw in breath to speak, no doubt to tell him it was fine, already forgotten, and he raised a hand to forestall her. "This needs to be said. I acted horribly. I should have told you everything I knew, as soon as I knew it; I understand that now. I was only trying to protect you… but it was misguided. You are not in need of my protection. You and I, we… we work better as a partnership; as equals. I will not forget it again."

"Gunther –"

"Wait. There is more. You deserve an apology for the kiss as well."

"Gunther, _stop_. I already explained that I was caught by surprise. I overreacted. You do not need to –"

"I _do_ need to. I do. It was unacceptable to… manipulate you like that. You had every right to be angry, and it will not happen again. I would say that I do not know what came over me, but that would be a lie. When I learned about my father's… designs on you, I realized that…" _steady on, Gunther, it's too late to back out now_… "that it would kill me. Seeing my father lay claim to you would kill me. And not only my father. Seeing _anyone_ lay claim to you would kill me. Because… because…"

Her eyes were widening. They looked enormous in the gloom.

"Jane, I…" he whispered, his throat suddenly very dry. "Oh, hell. What I mean to say is… I… I…"

"Shh." She scooched toward him on the mattress until their knees touched, then leaned in and actually pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. "I know. I _know_. When I thought you were d – gone… and my behavior toward you had been so _harsh_… Gunther, I wanted to die. I love you too."

Those simple words almost knocked the breath right out of him. He felt the beginnings of another grin coming on. "Then… you…"

She grinned right back. "Forgive you for kissing me, yes. And invite you to do it again."

Stunned by his good fortune, he raised a hand to her face, caressing her cheek and running his thumb gently over her lips.

"Jane, I have to ask. Yesterday you said that you were meant to be a knight, not a wife. Do you think… is there any way… that someday, for the right man, you might consider being… both?"

She laughed quietly and looked down for a moment. "If there is one way to convince me, Gunther, it is to keep kissing me like you did yesterday. And yet here you are, letting a prime opportunity pass you by. I am not going to ask you again."

Gunther was no fool. A second later he was wrapping his arms around her, pulling her right up against his chest, feeling her heat, her sleepy weight in his arms, holding her so close that his lips moved against hers when he paused just long enough to whisper,

"You will never need to."

Then there was no more need for words.


End file.
